


Desperation Redux

by jelazakazone



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Lots of Angst, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, desperate angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/pseuds/jelazakazone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin tries to change the events at Camlann by traveling back in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperation Redux

**Author's Note:**

> The feels are attacking me. I am sorry to inflict them on you too. READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL. *goes away to sob in the corner*
> 
> Also written for Tavern Tales' prompt of "Quickies, Frantic Gropes, Desperate times"

Merlin checked his calculations and then checked them again.

“Oi, Mordred, come here, would you?” he yelled across the room.

Mordred, the over eager PhD candidate, arrived with a hasty jog.

He panted, “what is it?”

“I need you to check my calculations.” 

“Yes sir, if you say so.”

Merlin thought there was a note of doubt in Mordred’s voice, as though he weren’t up to the job, but Merlin knew there was no one better.

Mordred had to come his lab after leaving CERN because he “had been looking for more theoretical work.” 

Mordred looked at the computer and then looked back to Merlin. “But, you haven’t even run it yet. Why….” He trailed off at the look Merlin gave him.

“Right,” he muttered. Mordred brought up a new window into which he pasted the script Merlin had written. Then he hit enter, which Merlin had been unable to do.

A million lines scrolled by and then a schematic popped up on the monitor. Merlin swayed. He might have fainted if Mordred hadn’t caught him.

“Merlin. Merlin,” Mordred whispered roughly as he popped up and guided Merlin to sit down.

Tears sprang to Merlin’s eyes. “You know what this means, don’t you, Mordred?” Merlin felt the weight of a hundred universes lift off him. He would finally be able to fix the past.

Merlin had spent a millenia and a half trying every possible condition and position of humanity. He’d been a stable hand, he’d done years of farming, had moved on to serving in households in a variety of positions, and have even been one of the landed gentry for a while, but nothing had been truly interesting until the Industrial Revolution occurred. All of sudden, life sped it up and he was living life at a pace much more amenable to his mood.

He’d tried inventing a variety of machines, but found he wasn’t as clever as other people seemed to be. Then the Roaring 20’s arrived and Merlin was seduced by the music and the dancing and the men in dapper suits and girls in shiny dresses. But that bubble came down during the depression and Merlin spent a good decade drunk, hanging out in various pubs and being a general nuisance, although harmless.

One day, in the middle of the war, his old friend Kil called from Bletchley Park.

“Merlin,” he’d said, “Time for you to sober up. There are some difficult problems, we could use your help, and honestly, I think you’d be interested in the work. Come on up next week and we’ll set you up.”

Merlin had been unable to resist the call and staggered in to Kil’s office a week later. Kil hadn’t mentioned Merlin’s appearance, just sat him down at a desk with a piece of paper and said, “We’re working on codes. See what you can do.”

So, Merlin had worked on codes and all the while it was a good enough distraction. Or, almost good enough. He saw the camaraderie the other men had and it made him yearn for the years he’d been at Camelot’s court with Arthur. He’d tried dating other people, but his heart wasn’t in it. He’d learned that over the years. But the work here was good. It was interesting and maybe if he focused on it, it would save him. Somehow.

And so he’d worked in the intelligence community for many years, through men going into space and the development of nuclear weapons, and whatever other nonsense humanity managed to dredge up. 

He devoured pulp science fiction like it was candy and especially loved stories of time travel. Taliesin had told him that theoretically magic could achieve time travel, but no one had successfully done it and so the effects were unknown.

When Arthur had died, Merlin knew he did not have the strength to try and later, when his strength had returned, he thought the price might be too high. But now, here he’d seemingly discovered a way to do it without magic. This was some kind of magic in itself. A paradox. And it would turn out not to be the only paradox he’d encounter.

Merlin had confided all the details to Mordred some time ago. He hoped that by trusting Mordred from the outset, it might influence events in the past, were he able to manage to go back. When he’d asked Kil, he’d gotten some strange answer about the past being the future and yet the future was the future too. Irritated with his syllogisms, he’d left.

Now, Merlin looked up at Mordred. “So, what do you think? Will you help me?”

Mordred nodded.

Merlin knew the task ahead would not be quick. They needed to write grants and acquire materials and train other people to help build the machinery, but with hope, he felt able to endure anything.

Finally, the day arrived. They had not been able to keep the project a secret due to funding issues and needing major advertisers to step in at the last minute, so they were staged in front of the university on a dias with the University President and some people Merlin knew were muckity mucks, but whom he’d never paid the slightest bit of attention to. Merlin just hoped they wouldn’t talk very long. He’d waited long enough.

At last he stepped up to the machine and slipped into the booth. Although it was made with translucent material, Merlin felt a quiet peace he hadn’t felt for some time. He had faith things were going to work out.

Mordred worked at the keyboard and nodded at Merlin. Merlin nodded his assent and Mordred hit “enter”.

Merlin felt his stomach flip and twist and his head was spinning and then he was standing in the middle of the woods outside Camelot. He resisted the urge to let out a yelp of joy. It had worked!

The sound of booted feet stomping echoed in the forest. Merlin dove into a bush, anxious to avoid discovery. He knew things could go very wrong were he to encounter himself in the past.

More men trudged by and then he saw Arthur on horseback, light from god only knew where glinting off his armour. Merlin looked at the other men on horseback and realized this was right before the battle of Camlann. His heart sank. He’d tried to fix things before and it hadn’t worked. He was too late.

No no, he couldn’t think that. The men had passed and Merlin knew what to do. He knew he would be up on the crest, fighting with magic up there. He had to find Mordred and replace the blade.

Merlin felt as though he were grasping at straws, but it was the only thing he could think of. He knew Mordred was good and loyal and didn’t want him to die now either, but his focus was on Arthur.

The last horse receded out of his view and Merlin sprang to action. He ran, to catch up, but stayed far enough behind to escape notice (which, truth be told, wasn’t that far behind. They knew the enemy was in front of them.).

The battle raged for hours. Merlin’s old self was throwing lightning bolts and hurtling stones, but could only do so much from his distant perch.

Future!Merlin, on the other hand, was in the thick of the battle. He narrowly escaped beheading a couple times and numerous punctures due to a clever spell he’d used that didn’t take much energy. Magic was lush in Camelot and Merlin was able to drink from it like a man at an oasis.

He finally acquired a blade that was as ordinary as any other. Now all he had to do was switch it out. He knew his time was running out. Desperate, he threw himself into Mordred and to his horror, saw Mordred’s blade go into Arthur’s gut, just as it had in the past.

Damn it, he should have known better than to meddle in the past. Ugly doubts reared in his mind. But his heart demanded more. FIX IT NOW, he heard in his mind.

Merlin knew what to do. He put his hand on Arthur’s chest and called the tip of the dragonforged blade to him with a surge of magic that knocked him away from Arthur with such force that he hit his own head on the rocky ground.

He sat up, rubbing his head with one hand and realized he’d had help, from himself. His older self was nowhere to be seen or felt. He must contain himself from the past timeline as well as his future self.

His hand was hurting and he realized it was clenched around something. He opened it and to his delight saw the bloody tip of Mordred’s sword. But then, to his horror, it started moving and Merlin could feel it pull him toward Arthur.

Merlin panicked. He knew he had to get away instantly. Arthur’s life was too precious for him to hang around and see if he could deactivate the sword.

Merlin pushed the button on his belt and felt his stomach flip and head spin and he was again in the booth, covered with Arthur’s blood. He stumbled out and Mordred caught him.

“What happened? Did it work? You were only gone for half an hour!”

Merlin just nodded, trying to catch his breath. “It’s not my blood. It felt like hours to me. When can I go back? I have the tip of the sword. I just need to deactivate it, and then I can go to stay.”

Mordred gave Merlin a look. He licked his lips. Then he said, “Er, Merlin, it turns out this was a one time event. It turns out the machine used all the free radicals known to exist in the universe to send you back in time and to pull you forward.”

Merlin resisted the urge to scream. Why did bad things always happen to him? He finally saved his king; now he needed to get back there and help him rule. 

“Mordred, the only version of me that exists is this one. Here and now. The past!me had to fuse into future!me to save Arthur. Damn it, it can’t end like this.” He sank to his knees, sobbing, knowing that he’d have to comfort himself with tales from books, never to feel the warmth of his king under his palms again.


End file.
